


Loved the most and act the worst

by BakedAppleSauce



Series: The desert is a waste of time [22]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Ada crashes their lunch date, Basically, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Family Dynamics, M/M, Siblings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:01:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22341481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BakedAppleSauce/pseuds/BakedAppleSauce
Summary: Naturally, she'd been curious after that, couldn’t help asking around a bit. "Dangerous", people said, and "violent", which… yes, well, Ada had thought. That's what people said about her family as well, her brothers especially. "Mad as a fucking hatter", seemed to be the other unanimous opinion, just… unstable and volatile and insane.In which some worlds collide, almost entirely on accident.(This is a sequel to "Can't have a siege all by yourself", so it's probably a good idea to read that one first.)
Relationships: Tommy Shelby/Alfie Solomons
Series: The desert is a waste of time [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1310750
Comments: 39
Kudos: 376





	Loved the most and act the worst

Esme calls her on a Monday evening. 

It’s a bit of a surprise, albeit not an unwelcome one. They’ve always liked each other. Ada secretly admires her a lot – the way Esme always seems so sure of herself, and nevermind whether the world at large, or even the Shelby clan as a whole seems to agree with her or not. Turns out Tommy's had one of countless Lee cousins arrested, for _stealing_ of all things. Ada knows she’s heard the name before and thinks she might even be able to put the right face next to it inside her head, but she’s not sure. Doesn’t matter anyway, because _Esme_ seems to be sure and Esme is not happy. 

Must have done something severe, Ada thinks, because… well. The Lees steal things, always have done, it’s just a fact. Tommy probably knows about it as well, there’s just no way he doesn’t. As far as Ada is aware, he usually seems to tolerate it with the patience of a noble king, handing out charity to his more or less loyal subjects. 

“John doesn't wanna interfere, of course,” Esme says. “Thinks Simon deserves it. Says he should’ve known better. ‘Cause… you know,” she lowers her voice, wrangles it into a spot-on imitation of John’s usual passionate declaration, “We’re the _Peaky fucking Blinders!”_

Ada snorts a laugh. 

“I'll see what I can do,” she promises, feeling… like something. Somebody. Worldly and powerful, like the kind of person who might say “ _leave it to me”_ and then actually goes and gets everything sorted out. Tommy won’t like the interference, she thinks, and he’ll like it even less once he realizes Esme was the source of it.

Which is how Ada finds herself at noon the next day, marching into the restaurant Tommy’s hotel reception told her over the phone, with her head held high, ready to have a serious discussion. It’s always better to do this kind of thing in public, because Tommy’s hilariously reluctant to make a scene when they’re in London, but of course – if he’s at a restaurant, he also can’t just get up and leave, the way he usually does when he decides he’s done with any particular conversation. 

They're at a table in the back. It's far from the best one in the house – definitely not the one Tommy would have picked if he was trying to show off, Ada thinks – but private, almost entirely obscured from view. As always, her brother is impeccably dressed, not a hair out of place, not one button undone, not even for lunch. He is smoking, which doesn't come as a surprise, cigarette a casual extension of his hand, but what _is_ unusual is the fact that he's gesturing with it. He's got one elbow placed on top of the table and is circling his wrist, with his hand moving through the air like he's describing something. Not quite smiling, but clearly deeply engaged in whatever the topic of conversation might be. 

Only now is Ada's eye drawn to the other person at the table; she's too used to always looking at Tommy first, she thinks, they all are. Waiting for instructions, waiting for a cue, waiting for him to take the lead. It's not like she expected him to be alone, but still, his company comes as a bit of a surprise.

The second man looks… not like Tommy's polar opposite, not quite, but definitely less put together. It's not even the individual items of clothing, Ada realizes, he doesn't look _poor_ or anything like that. Everything seems well made, of good quality and relatively new. He just looks… like he got dressed in a hurry, maybe, except no, even that is not true. Everything is just a bit _off,_ no collar, no tie, with the first few buttons of his shirt carelessly undone. He's got his shirtsleeves down, but they're creased to hell, like he's had them rolled up not too long ago. The waistcoat he’s wearing is also completely unbuttoned, hanging open and almost threatening to slide off of one shoulder. Also, he's still wearing his hat. Indoors. Like the thought of caring about his appearance is a nuisance to him, Ada thinks, like he couldn't care less.

He’s not looking at Tommy, even though he's clearly listening to what Tommy says, head tilted towards him, brow furrowed in concentration, while his eyes are glued to the teacup in front of him. He's got a spoon between forefinger and middle finger, fiddling with it, trying to balance it on the rim. Ultimately, the beard is what gives it away. Not because it's that distinctive by itself, Ada thinks, even as she notices the scar, but because it's enough information to help her connect the dots in her head, to suddenly makes her stop and realize, _oh._

She distinctly remembers Arthur telling her, “Looks like he should hide out in the fucking mountains somewhere, like a fuckin’ savage from one of those books,” not long after he’d been let out of prison, face red with barely concealed anger. He didn’t specify which books he meant, but it did paint a certain picture. 

“Ada”, Tommy had said, during his surprise visit about three weeks ago, and then he’d stopped and looked down at his cigarette, which had been Ada’s clue to sit up and pay closer attention. 

“Yes?” she’d said. 

“I…” Tommy’d said and then he’d cleared his throat and switched tac. “Remember when… about the, the _person_ in London I was…”

“Occasionally fucking?” Ada had said, quoting his own phrasing back to him, from the last time they’d had this sort of conversation, because as a matter of fact, she _did_ remember it very well. 

“Yes,” Tommy had said, looking strangely determined. Then he’d downed his Whisky and went for the bottle again, refilled his own glass and topped hers off as well, even though it wasn’t anywhere near empty.

“Thanks,” Ada had said, a bit sarcastic. 

Then there had been a long moment of silence.

“What about… the person?” Ada had said then. Almost said _“him”_ and then thought better of it, once again taking her cue from Tommy, because… he looked fucking terrified, to be perfectly honest, in that white-knuckled, blank-faced way he had, which meant this was either going to be very worrying or very endearing, depending on the direction their little chat was about to take. He’s developed feelings, she thought, _or_ the whole thing had gone horribly awry. Maybe both, given Tommy’s fucking track record. The real question was, why was he telling Ada? Why now? For a second she was half-convinced he wanted her to _meet_ the guy, of all things, but then Tommy took a deep breath and said, like somebody might rip off a bandage sticking to their skin, “It’s Alfie Solomons.”

“...oh,” Ada said. 

She’d known the name, of course, even though she’d never met the man in person. They were currently in business, as far as she was aware, and things seemed to be going smoothly. Arthur was still quietly fuming, but John had accompanied Tommy to various meetings a few times, and he seemed happy enough. Then again, John sometimes had a tendency to be mean and suspicious when it wasn’t warranted and vainly unconcerned when it absolutely was. 

“Do you… like him?” she’d heard herself ask, which wasn’t what she had wanted to say at all, but. Since nothing was forthcoming about a possible impending disaster – blackmail, betrayal, a breakup, whatever else might have gone wrong – that seemed to be the next best guess.

“What?” Tommy had snapped, seemingly taken aback. “No! _Fuck,_ no. He’s… no. Absolutely not.”

“Oh, _all_ right,” Ada had said. “Fine. I’m sure there must be _some_ redeeming qualities.”

To her endless amazement and horror, Tommy’s face had startet to turn _red_ after that. Ada tried to recall the last time it had happened and failed. It used to happen a lot when he’d been a child, pale complexion and all that, and even back then, Tommy had absolutely _hated_ it. It wasn’t half as bad as an adult, mostly just cheeks and nose gone a bit pink, but still. _Still,_ Ada thought, this was Tommy fucking Shelby, after all. 

“John found out,” he’d said quickly, as if to distract from his own reaction. “So.”

“So,” Ada had said. That explained things, of course. Given the fact there had been no huge family fallout yet – and _somebody_ would have called her in that case, she was sure of it – John’s reaction couldn’t have been that opposed, which wasn’t too surprising, in all honesty. Still, John was terrible at keeping secrets. For all he banged on about being the head of his household and nonsense like that, it was an open secret that sooner or later he ended up telling Esme everything. 

Tommy just sat there for a bit, smoking his cigarette. 

“You’re gonna tell Polly,” Ada said, finally. It wasn’t a question.

“Figure I have to,” Tommy said, sounding a bit unsure. “Right?”

“I mean…” Ada said, wondering for a moment if he maybe was trying to ask her to do it for him. “You don’t _have_ to.”

“She’s going to find out.”

“Well…” Ada said, but really, there was no point in denying the facts. “Yes. She probably will.”

And naturally, she'd been curious after that, couldn’t help asking around a bit. _Dangerous,_ people said, and _violent,_ which… yes, well, Ada had thought. That's what people said about her family as well, her brothers especially. _Mad as a fucking hatter,_ seemed to be the other unanimous opinion, just… unstable and volatile and _insane._ Then again, people also thought Tommy Shelby was absolutely ruthless and didn’t fear death in the slightest. 

So here Ada is, crashing right into Tommy's possible lunch date. She refuses to feel bad about that. 

"...so of course, we double-checked," Tommy is saying, once she gets close enough to hear. Ada tries to remember the last time she's heard him sound this animated about _anything._ "Turns out, no, no he absolutely wasn't. Made a ton of spelling errors as well, which… I mean, buy a bloody dictionary at least. Put some effort in." 

There’s a deep, humming noise from the other man, who might just be Alfie Solomons, that sounds like agreement, and then he looks up sharply when Tommy raises his head, because he's noticed Ada coming towards their table. 

Which is of course when the waiter catches up with her. 

* * *

“Have you lost your fucking mind?”

She looks a lot more like Tommy than any of his brothers do, Alfie thinks, both of them dark-haired and lithe, effortlessly pretty in a very delicate way. There's a softness to her that Tommy's lacking, no dark bruises under her eyes and no angles sharp enough to cut – the kind of lightness in her face that can only be expected of someone who hasn't been neck deep in war, Alfie supposes.

“Ma'am,” says the waiter, “Could you please lower your-” 

She turns to face him. Alfie might have expected her to whirl around, eyes flashing, because that is the kind of energy she seems to possess, but she does it slowly, deliberately. Looks the waiter straight in the eyes and says, clipped and precise: “Fuck. Off.”

“Yes, Ma'am,” the waiter says and does as he’s told. Alfie’s impressed. 

Tommy is looking at her with quiet apprehension. Doesn’t get up to pull out a chair for her or anything like that, the way Alfie has seen him do it before, for ladies of a much better standing.

“Alfie,” he says, with the air of somebody who does _not_ want to have this conversation, but recognizes that there’s no way around it now. “Meet my sister. Ada, Alfie Solomons.”

“Hello,” Ada says. She pulls out her own chair, and settles down comfortably, elbows on both armrests, interlacing her fingers in front of her stomach. “How do you do. Tom, the question still stands. Have you lost your fucking mind?”

“This really isn’t the time-” Tommy starts, but he doesn’t get to finish. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, ignoring him completely and, addressing Alfie instead, says very sarcastically, "This a bad time, perhaps?”

“Yes,” Tommy snaps.

“Well,” Alfie says. “It is most definitely _a_ time, innit? I’d be hard pressed to assign any particular value, right, at this exact moment of the day, on account of me not bein’ qualified, on a spiritual level, yeah, to make that kind of call, on behalf of the entire universe.”

To his left, he can hear Tommy's quiet sigh. Ada blinks at him, once, clearly processing. She looks the exact same way Tommy does sometimes, doing that, and Alfie can’t help but feel endeared, suddenly, which is very fucking annoying, if he’s perfectly honest.

“But surely you _do_ feel qualified to make that kind of call on behalf of just yourself, Mr. Solomons, no?” she says then, head tilting to the side a bit, looking faintly amused. 

And all right, Alfie thinks. _Well._ Turns out, Tommy’s might not be the lone family outlier after all. His brother’s just seem to have gotten the short end of the stick, as far as brains or looks are concerned. 

“Hmmmm. We are but dust and ashes, right,” Alfie says, stubbornly cryptic. “Aren’t we.”

Next to him, Tommy snorts, disbelieving. 

"I'm making the bloody call, then," he says, decisive, wrenching the whole conversation back on track. "This _is_ a bad time, Ada." 

"Well," Ada says, attention going back to him momentarily. _"Good."_

Alfie tries not to grin, combs his fingers through his beard to hide his amusement. Doesn’t do a well enough job of it, obviously, because Tommy’s glaring now, while his sister levels a curious gaze at him. 

“My brother wants to kill you,” she says conversationally. 

She’s not whispering exactly, but her voice is a tad lower now than it was before; she's clearly used to having the kind of conversations in public places one shouldn't even be having in private. She also looks vaguely interested, like she wants to see what Alfie's response will be to this particular admission. (Who the fuck knows, Alfie thinks, word is Arthur Shelby is murdering people on a weekly basis anyway, some of them entirely by accident.) 

“Has he still not gotten over that,” Alfie says.

“He’s not exactly the forgiving type,” Ada says. “Runs in the family.”

There’s a certain edge to that statement, like she's declaring her loyalties. Fair enough, Alfie supposes. He wouldn't pick himself over blood relations, either. 

“Yeahhh,” he says. "Among other things. You a Shelby now, by the way? Currently? Since I’ve heard, right, you’re preferring some other surname and company nowadays, haven’t I.”

To Ada’s credit, her gaze doesn’t flit over to Tommy after that, even though she’s clearly considering the possibility it might have been him who told Alfie all about that for a split second. Which he absolutely hasn’t, not that Alfie is going to tell her as much.

“Mr. Solomons,” Ada says sweetly, after a moment of consideration. “I’m not sure you _really_ want to get into a discussion about the subject of one’s preferred company with me, but if you insist... ”

“He isn’t,” Tommy says, sounding very irritated. “Nobody fucking is.” 

“Now, Thomas,” Alfie says. “It’d be greatly appreciated, yeah, if you stuck to speaking solely for yourself. Yeah? Wouldn’t it.” 

If Tommy’s sister wants to have a discussion about things like the fact that Alfie spent the morning sprawled out diagonally across a decently comfortable hotel bed, having his cock sucked by her brother, who is currently trying to murder Alfie with his eyes, then Alfie is very happy to oblige. Except he won’t, of course, because Tommy might actually never forgive him for that.

“Would that I could,” Tommy says, and then, clearly imitating Alfie, _“It’d be greatly appreciated,_ by the way, if you stuck to not saying anything at all for a minute. Eh?”

“That’s gonna be a bit difficult, innit” Alfie says. “Seeing as I don’t have my watch on hand and all, mate.”

Tommy’s eyes drop down to Alfie’s waistcoat, to where his watch chain is clearly visible, gleaming dimly in the artificial light.

“Well,” Alfie says, unimpressed. “S’clearly my pocket, not my _hand,_ now is it.”

He doesn’t miss how closely Ada follows the entire exchange; doesn’t think Tommy did either. 

_“Christ,”_ she mutters now, more to herself than to either of them, and Tommy clears his throat, looking faintly embarrassed.

“Ada,” he says, a warning. “What do you want?”

Ada is biting at her lower lip now, just a bit, which again – _Tommy_ tends to do that as well, Alfie thinks, doesn’t he. It’s very fucking distracting. She’s hesitating, probably unsure if she should to get into whatever issue she came her for while Alfie is sitting right there. Then she’s raising her chin defiantly, because she’s clearly made up her mind. 

“The Lee cousin,” she says. “The one that’s ended up in prison for some reason.”

“Jesus Christ,” Tommy mutters, annoyed. He reaches for his cigarettes, lighting up the next one with practiced ease. “Yes,” he says then, loud and clear. “What about him.”

“Why’s he ended up in prison?”

“I’m sorry, Ada,” Tommy says cooly. “Here I was, under the impression that the family business wasn’t any of your concerns at the moment.”

“It isn’t,” Ada says, then adds, “And not just at the moment!”

This is clearly an old argument, Alfie thinks. Well-worn and familiar, everybody perfectly aware of their fucking lines and what to do with them. He reaches for the fancy teakettle and empties the rest of the tea into his cup. 

“Well?” Tommy says, impatient. “What do you care, then?”

“Esme cares.” 

Which, for some unfathomable fucking reason, causes Tommy’s arm to come down on top of the table with a loud clattering noise.

 _“Oi!”_ Alfie says, rescuing his cup. He’s being completely ignored, because Tommy is leaning forward now, towards his sister, who seems entirely unimpressed by his attitude, one eyebrow raised like a challenge.

“Well, God fucking forbid _Esme_ doesn’t agree,” Tommy says, in a voice he probably _thinks_ sounds calm and collected, but the gritted teeth _do_ give him away a bit. “With the decisions I make. Should have asked her beforehand, eh? Do a fucking survey, get everybody's bloody _permission-”_

“Well, yeah, I don’t know, mate,” Alfie says, very rationally. “Maybe you should have.”

“Shut up,” Tommy says, at the exact same moment his sister says, “None of your _fucking_ business” both of them turning towards Alfie now. 

Typical, Alfie thinks bitterly. Bloody fucking Shelbys. Out loud he says, “Yes, hello, how may we fucking help you?” because lo and behold, their waiter is back, hovering next to their table. He looks fairly uncomfortable – probably because of all the commotion, Alfie thinks. Trying to find out what their fucking problem is and how to best get rid of them. Which is not going to happen, obviously, because there’s not _that_ many kosher restaurants in London what are actually somewhat posh, and Alfie happens to know the owner of this one personally. (They’re even friends, in a way… if one friend was fucking terrified of the other one and wouldn't ever dare throw him out of his fine establishment.)

To his credit, their waiter knows what to say immediately. 

* * *

“Would you like to order something, ma’am?”

“No," Tommy says. "She wouldn't." 

It’s obvious from the state of the table that they’ve already eaten, Ada thinks – crinkled tablecloth, bread crumbs, a small, dried stain from what might have been sauce, their mostly empty tea cups. 

“Actually,” she says. “I'm in the mood for something sweet. What do you have on offer for desert?” 

Tommy sighs, rubbing the spot between his eyes with one thumb, but he doesn't protest. Solomons is still watching her without blinking; like Ada might be partial to the secrets of the universe and he's trying to divine them straight out of her head. She orders chocolate cake, because secretly, she's never been a fan of all the fancy pastries the waiter just rattled off. The complicated things never seem to taste as good as the simple ones. 

“You gonna pay for that then, mate,” Solomons says suddenly. “Yeah?” 

And Ada's brother, who usually _jumps_ at an opportunity to aggressively throw some money around in public, actually says, "Fuck, no. Not my fault it's your turn." 

“Then again, s'not _my_ fault you have a bloody sister, innit,” Solomons says. 

“Yeah,” Tommy says, and he seems actually _pleased_ with this outcome, Ada thinks. “Works out perfectly, eh?”

“What did we just discuss, yeah, in regards to people speaking for their own bloody selves and nobody else's, mate? Hmm? Distinctly remember-”

“Your turn,” Tommy says, unimpressed. “Your bill, your money. Unless we're renegotiating the entire set up.”

They've had _sex,_ Ada thinks, all of a sudden. At some point in time, they’ve… she doesn’t even know. Fucked in some capacity. Which isn't exactly news, because Tommy basically told her as much, but still, this detail just occurs to her now, out of nowhere. It seems inconceivable, in a way, and strangely obvious at the same time, just watching them interact with each other. Solomons makes a rumbling noise in response and scratches at his cheek. He seems unbelievably harmless all of a sudden, Ada thinks, as he’s looking back and forth between her and Tommy absentmindedly, like he's confused. Seems _innocent_ almost, like he couldn’t harm a fly, reaching for his tea cup to drink what's left in it, holding it around the rim instead of the handle. 

“Look,” Ada says to Tommy, who seems wary again almost immediately. “Just get him out? Yeah? What’s even the fucking point, the Lees have been stealing from you the whole time.”

“Have they now,” Solomons says mildly. “Really? Yeah? What exactly have they been stealing, then? Hm?”

“None of your fucking concern,” Tommy tells him. 

“And none of my fucking rum either, I hope.”

“No,” Tommy says decisively. 

It’s a lie, Ada's pretty sure about that, and then she catches Solomons’ eye, because he’s shamelessly staring at her again, gaze gone razor sharp all of a sudden, and realizes that he knows it, too. Still, he seems impossible to read; Ada couldn’t even begin to guess what he’s thinking about any of this. 

“You can’t just have people arrested,” she says to Tommy.

“Sure I can,” Tommy says easily, like he doesn’t even care – just to be a bastard, Ada knows, but that doesn’t mean it’s not irritating as fuck. 

She opens her mouth, to give some scathing reply, which is the exact point in time their waiter decides to arrive with her cake. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure if the POV changes work, but I wanted both reactions, so I wrote both reactions.  
> Also, I just feel like Alfie's first instinct when meeting anybody new is to say some strange shit almost immediately, just to test the waters.


End file.
